Two Steps Towards Oblivion
by Nazwin43
Summary: When signals of an unknown race reach Citadel Space, the Council leads an effort to gain enough information upon the newcomers to the galactic community. However, after much deliberation among themselves, as well as a powerful AI, they learn the fate of the galaxy is at stake, before opting to unleash a preemptive strike. Unknowingly, this was the first step to their destruction..


_MESSAGE BEGINS_

_An asari in formal wear walks into view, her facial expression contemplative before visibly taking a deep breath and facing the camera_

This is Matriarch Alyn T'Vado and we've made a mistake. However painful it might be, it's the undeniable truth. The flaw was not with the Salarians or the observatories our two races built together many centuries ago, for those machines were as perfect and beyond what any other could dream of, showing us only the unfiltered light of truth. The flaw was not in the Quarians and their "geth" for they were devices of pure, infallible logic, despite their existence being strictly forbidden with Citadel Space, efficiently turning the years of raw data into meaningful information without a soul or natural connection to Eternity. No, the flaw was within us, the instigators of our current situation, the sentient races who thought themselves the rulers of space and were beyond such failings. We are responsible.

It began not so long ago relatively speaking, as no less than three centuries have passed, though I suspect the manner in which we can tell will mean nothing by the time anyone listens to this recording in earnest. We've detected faint radio signals from a flourishing sapient intelligence several FTL jumps outward from the Galactic Core. At first, these garbled and unstructured leaking wave-lengths quickly grew intricate and concentrated, as well as the various message that came with them. Through our observatories, we watched a world deal in strife and violence, populated by a savage race of short-lived, fast-spawning parasites. They were brutal, barbaric creatures who tortured and killed one another other with no regard for their own lives or morals. Their very notions of art depicted that of agony and war. Despite being similar to each other in every way, they divided themselves according to several strange societal patterns, setting their every industry to create tools of death.

In truth, they terrified us all. But since we were older, wiser and so far away, so we did not fret. Then we watched them split the atom and breach the heavens within the breadth of one of their single, short generations. When they began actively transmitting messages and searching the stars, we felt dread and trepidation. Although their messages now spoke of peace and solidarity to any who were listening, the Council, and many others, had watched them for too long to buy into such obvious treachery. Sooner or later, they would know we were out here, and they would be coming for us.

The Asari Matriarchs, Salarian Dalatrass, and Turian Primarch all consulted the Quarians and their "Geth" about this new race, and… the results were grim. They would multiply, expand, and flood out of their home system like some uncontrollable tide of Thresher Maws, consuming everything in their wake. It might have taken them centuries with their technology, but they would spell the destruction of the galaxy if left unchecked. So with aching hearts, we decided to act… sealing our fate in the process.

_Matriarch T'Vado lets out a heavy audible sigh as she hangs her head and pinches the bridge of her nose. She remains in silence for roughly two minutes and forty-three seconds before lifting her head and continuing on, having seemingly regained her composure_

Our "Gift of Mercy" was classified as a Tier 1 weapon made purely of a tungsten alloy, 8.4 meters long with a width 2.4 that in diameter, filled with copious amounts of FTL drive cores, Element Zero, and ballast. It would push itself up to light speed with its onboard fuel, then begin to consume ambient Element Zero found between each system to feed its unlimited acceleration. It would be traveling at nearly the speed roughly twice that of Citadel starships, or ten thousand times light speed. They would never see it coming.

Its launch was a day of mourning, celebration, and reflection. The horror of the act we had committed weighed heavily upon us all and the necessity of our crime did little to comfort us.

It had barely cleared the thick layers of gas and dust, leaving its mark upon the Serpent Nebula with a gaping hole from its exit, when we realized the fault in preemptive act. But it was too late. Our "Gift" could not be halted, or diverted from its path. The architects and workers consisting purely of all races were horrified at the awful power of the thing upon which they labored, having quietly committed suicide by the score, willingly walking into heavy radiation zones, neglecting proper null pressure, or by simply starving themselves until their metabolic functions stopped. The abhorrent cost of lives forced the Council to issue a streamlined transmission of the weapon's design and construction. There had been no time to send the complete design or explanation of anything beyond the simple, massive drive core engines and stabilizing systems. We only watched in horror as the tool of genocide faded into the distant void of space, while our message became misconstrued as intergalactic aid.

With our "help", the creatures developed and changed in a handful of lifetimes. They abolished war along with abandoning their baser, violent instincts and turned themselves towards a glorious purpose of life and craft. First, we watched them remake themselves, and then their world with great efficiency. Their frail, soft bodies gave way to glimmering metals and prosthetics, prior to unifying their people through an omnipotent communication system, producing art of such power and emotion, the likes of which our galaxy has never seen before… Or again, because of us.

By their own standards, they converted their home world to perfection. Millions poured out into the neighboring planets with a promptitude and vigor that would have probably left the Krogan envious. With bodies built to adapt to every environment from the sun-lit surface of their innermost planet to the largest gas giant, even including the cold abyss in between, they set out to sculpt their whole system into something astonishing. At first, in our denial, we thought them to be simple vermin, stripping the mineral-rich moons for vital resources as we initially thought. Although, this was before we saw the purpose to their construction; their artworks were carved into every surface, tracing across their entire system in glimmering lights and dancing fusion trails. And still, our terrible "Gift" approached.

They had less than two years to see it, trailing closely on its luminescence. In that time, oh so brief, more than ten billion sentient lives had prepared for their demise. Lovers exchanged last words, separated by worlds and the tyranny of light-years. Their planet-side engineers worked frantically to build sufficient transportation to upload the endless masses with the necessary neural modifications that helped them cope with life in space, while those above abandoned lifetimes of music, literature, and other non-essential machines from their ships to make space for the less fortunate. Those lacking the required hardware as the time resigned themselves to death, resorting back to their violent tendencies, while others simply went about their lives as best they could.

The "Gift" arrived abruptly, the light of the planet's destruction visible within the skies of our home-worlds, shining intense and fierce even to the naked eye. We wept for our victims, who were dead so many years before the sign of the impact had even been recognized. Many of those who had been directly, or even indirectly, involved in the creation of the weapon perished along with those prior, a final penance for the small roles they had played in this violation. The shine dimmed, and the dust cleared. Every member of the Council commanded our observatories to focus upon the place where their shining blue gem had hung in the abyss once more, only finding dust and the faint shimmer of an orphaned moon wrapped in a fine, smoldering veil of atmosphere that had belonged to its parent.

Radiation from the excess remnants of Element Zero, and relativistic planetary shrapnel had wiped out much of the inner system, as continent-sized chunks of molten rock carried screaming ghosts outward at interstellar escape velocities, damned to forever wander the great void. The damage was cataclysmic, but not entirely complete. From the shadows of the outer worlds, minuscule specks of light revealed themselves, leaving thousands of trails of single starships and cruisers and everything in between, many survivors in flesh and steel and memory databanks, all of whom were ready to recover. For a few brief moments, our people cheered and cried in relief and utter joy, filled with the hope our victims' culture and art would survive the abominable blow we had unjustly struck.

Then came the message that still haunts the minds of us all. Tightly focused at the hub of our galactic civilization through the exit-wound we inflicted upon the Serpent Nebula, it had been transmitted simultaneously by hundreds of their ships. The centuries we have spent translating the signals we had received since our discovery of this race, as well as the countless lives lost, all came down to this point. Here is the translation:

_Matriarch T'Vado lifts her right arm and activates her omni-tool. Slow movements and sudden spots show signs of apprehension, before finally reaching her intended result._

"This is Admiral Hackett of the Fifth Fleet. We know you are out there. And we are coming for you."

…Goddess, preserve us all…

_MESSAGE ENDS_

**Author Notes: Hey peeps! This is my first one-shot/story published here on FF, and this an adaptation of the short-story "The Gift" I heard several years ago. Any/all reviews are welcome, so tell me what you think and I hoped you enjoyed!**


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